Fighting for me

After 5 years, I have closed a chapter of my life.

My heart is breaking. But you know what, I've finally done something for myself.

I have not settled for less than I deserve.

Five Years and a Box in the Sky

Today marks 5 years. And this last year, seemed like the longest and roughest time ever.

I have sat and asked myself "Why?! Why was this last year so difficult for us?" We've argued so much more, we've yelled so much more and I have said it out loud far too often "Get out of my house!".

I recognise and realise that this is part and parcel of life and this thing we have that has no label to fit. And it is not reason enough for me to fly off the deep end and fret. It is how it is - people change, people grow, lives changes, paths shift.

There's gonna be a new box in the sky soon: the 4th in a short span of 5 years. And I hope that this would be my last, our last. And in this 6th year and moving forward, I hope this box in the sky will eventually be something more than just space and matter.

Even if I have to continue to just pay rent for it, and not mortgage, I would gladly do it just to have you by my side every other Sunday. We do not need the money that a new job would bring just to pay a mortgage. Cos at the end of the day, instead of being a home or have the possibility of a home, it would be my prison without you.

At this end of a very rough year, and the beginning of new one, I am grateful that you are still around. That you fight my battles for me. And while it may not be conventional, you've been there for me far more than anyone else has.

For that and everything else you are, I love you and I am grateful for the blessing of you!

Scream I Must

How could it be, that only 5 Sundays ago, we ran home to shower up, grab blankets, socks and sweaters so we could be by your side? How could it be, that only 5 Sundays ago, I curled up on the floor by your bed the whole night through? How could it be, that only 5 Sundays ago, you could still give me a smile and a thumbs up when I asked if you were feeling alright?

I have been telling myself each time it hit me, these weeks past, that I am actually not here, not in the country, or that you've gone back to JB - that's why we've not seen each other for so long. And then I tell myself, that is not quite right either, so for the last year or so, with the aid of technology, no matter where you or I traveled, we still saw and spoke at least once a week.

And then I get angry with you, for leaving me behind. For going off by your lonesome self, leaving me to fend for everyone else. To sort out your affairs. To tie up your loose-ends. To figure things out for myself. To have to depend on others who perhaps now feel I am too much of a pest.

To say I miss you, is an understatement. Just like the word "condolence" which is suppose to convey all things unspeakable, "miss" does not begin to describe the emptiness that is now exposed.

Tonight I want to sit and scream at the top of my lungs. Too hell if I scare the shit out of my lovely neighbours - this girl needs to let it out, let it rip, let it run lose and wild.

Cos right now, a month in, I have held it in enough and I have held up it enough. It's time to claim my space, my grief.

The Grief Has Come

I recall another time, of a similar scene - me sitting at my desk, heaving like I am choking and finding it hard to stop the tears from falling. And I am familiar with this scene and what it is called.

For the last 3 weeks, I have been indulging in what my Irish colleagues call - Occupational Therapy. Mindless working and constant motion. Never stopping to be still and just be. And now, 3 weeks have passed that I have been wearing black, with another week to go before the colours can come out again.

I am hesitate that this week to pass, for me to once again switch my clothes in the cupboard into their correct order of purpose. For it would mean that Dad's been gone a month. And I have been without his voice, his smile, his touch, his whole being for the same length of time.

I understand now why some folks prolong their mourning. It provides some form of false pretense, as if the colour cloak you from the pain of missing someone so dear and so loved, so very badly. But I also know that prolonging something that needs to be addressed, changes you on the inside. You become so well at blocking it, you simply become numb.

I know on 27th March 2013, Dad would want to see me in the brightest of my colours. Because if there is anything that he most wanted out of his death to those who are living - that we continue to live, and live well!

But it doesn't deny the fact that the grief has arrived at my door.

How Soon Is Too Soon?

This morning, I am stuck with the thought: we seemed to have moved on. And the question beckons - have we done it too soon?

Are we not suppose to sit and stare into space? Are we not suppose to mourn and bemoan the fact that life cannot go on cos Dad's not here anymore?

Mum, Fabian, the children, Aunt Cat and to some extent, myself included - we seemed to have forged new ways to do things. Today, the elders are heading to the grocers with a family friend driving them. And while I am so proud that they are carrying on, I also feel a slight pang that goes "Hey! You can't do that!"

I know wherever he is, Dad sure would be proud. I just hope he doesn't think that he is no longer missed. Cos as much as life goes on and the great world keeps spinning - there is a still a big gaping hole that stares at us in our face.

Just Plain Angry

There is suppose to be 5 stages of grief. Yet, I only know one - Anger.

I am so angry, even Ben thinks I'm in a bad place, and my BFF responded with a "HUH?!"

What am I angry about? A lot of things. Who am I angry at? Only 1 person. And it's shameful cos he's not even alive to defend himself anymore.

All I ask for is this: one lil simple sign - to let me know as you always do - that I am not broken, but merely slightly bent. Otherwise, we both know where this road is gonna lead to.

And you and I both know - that is the road that lead furthest from you.

Empty Chairs

My world stopped turning 2 weeks ago, when I got a call saying Dad was rushed to the Emergency Room. He went in fully dressed, he came out in a burial shroud.

We laid him to rest yesterday. Since then, I cannot help my imagination from spinning out of control. The darkness. The silence. All these things will be his companions from now on... 6 feet underground.

I have not addressed his death. I may have been saying out-loud "My daddy's dead" but no matter how many times I say it in my head or to folks around me, it is not sinking in.

This is a conscious effort to let it rip. And I am failing miserably.

My Father's Child

My dad put his house in order during our recent trip to Singapore. He made sure he visited the homes of my cousins and had a meal with each of them. He visited with his brothers, except his eldest - but he had that boxed off in a visit before.

Most importantly, he reconciled my Mum with her siblings, whom she had been estranged from the last 9 years.

As I sat a reflect on the week past, as well as the hours ahead when we make our way once again to the doctor's office for the latest update on what's going on in Dad's body - it hit me hard that I may lose my father soon.

I have been strong and pushing on the last 8 months. Keeping everyone sane and real. Yet, today I understand why everyone has been resisting my efforts. Today I understand why I have been at times the "visible enemy of cancer". Today as I sat in my favourite corner at the pub, I could not for the life of me, imagine the future without my Dad.

And because I cannot do that, I now wonder - how am I going to carry everyone through when the time comes? How am I going to sit by his side and help him cross over in peace and serenity?  How am I going to do all this when I am already breaking down inside with grief and pain?

Yet, as I shared Dad's efforts and actions the last week to my associates, the Ambassador remarked "Your Dad is a strong man as it takes a lot to do what he has done. You are his child and you will draw the strength you need from that."

So while there's a grief that can't be spoken....There's a pain that goes on and on.... I shall go forth today in that knowledge.

I am his child. His blood runs in mind. And as it courses through my body, he will give me his strength from the beyond.

You Came

My dad has severe abdominal pains late last night. It must have been bad cos he would always put off having to intrude / disturb me until he really has to. And so, at 15 mins to 11 pm, I get a call, asking if I could go home to take him to the hospital.

As Mum and I sat waiting in the ER way past midnight, for his number to be called, my phone beeped a text saying "Give me 10 minutes". Now you have to remember that for a person who lives daily without any hope in Hope, that is not something you say to said person.

But true to the text, in strolled a face I would never in a thousand years expect to see, on his own accord, walking in the doors of the hospital, with a bag of food and drinks for Mum and I.

And so it has to be said here (cos I would likely never have the guts to say it out-loud):

You came. On your own. When I lest expected it. And you stayed till we knew Dad was going to be fine, even though it would mean you would only have 4 hours of sleep before you had to go to work.

And introduced yourself to my folks, after 5 long years of saying no you would never met them. And you didn't hold yourself back when we spoke to the doctors and all that.

Part of me want to run for the hills cos it has been so long since someone stepped up and showed me I could lean on them when I needed to. Part of me is scared shitless. Part of me is wondering what happened that made you change your mind.

But you came. And that is what matters.

Moments Like These

My mum and aunt went shopping for Chinese New Year yesterday and I drove them.

As I watched them pick out clothes for my dad, selecting the brightest of reds and the funkiest of designs, happily laughing at each other's selection, I know at the back of their heads, the dark cloud hung: that this may be the last one for him.

"You have to make this the best," said my friend Mary as I sat chain-smoking on her balcony and drinking copious amounts of wine. "You will find yourself during the break to Singapore, moving between moments of joy, sadness, tiredness and frustrations. But you have to take it in and make it the best! Be in the NOW."

I did not realise how hard it is when someone so close to you is ill. Especially if you are constantly thinking "could this be the last?" Yet, living in the NOW is the most important thing you need to do.

I am so mentally tired, even my hair hurts!

But I know I need to push on. The time will come when I can rest. But not yet.

Driving Ms Barbsie

I sat my dad down this evening to run through with him the things his doctor has told us to watch for. It was something I had to do, because my dad can be a stubborn man who tries to mask anything and everything over.

It is a topsy-turvy world I live in right now. Whilst he would like to live life as normal as he can, I know that he is now restraint by limits. But like I said before, stubborn man that he is, he has and will continue to try to test said limits.

As I told a cousin of mine the day I last saw Dad's doctor, perhaps I am trying too hard to protect him. Perhaps being 2 steps ahead of him is not doing either of us any good. After all, our last episode of this bubble-wrapping saw him blowing up on me over the phone.

One of our greatest unspoken issue is his ability to continue driving. And when the time comes when he is no longer deemed safe behind the wheels. I just read something from the Galway Hospice Foundation website - a piece by Prof. Joan Borst who recounted the day her father stopped driving.

"Driving was part of his identity and made him an independent man, a husband and a father; roles of worth. In comparison to the news of a brain tumour, maybe learning he would no longer drive seems insignificant, but I knew that deep down it was hugely significant for the both of us. The pain and grief I felt was a signal that my father's ability for care for me was ending."

My day would come when I have to be in the good professor's shoes. I hope and pray that when it comes, both Dad and I would be shielded from the pain and grief, and that we would do it with a large amount of acceptance so that it would be as dignified as in the days when he drove me around.

Until then, I think I shall let him drive when the opportunity arises. After all, it is not everyday that I get driven around like Ms Daisy.

Doing What Feels Right

I took the day off yesterday, got into my car at 5.30 am after an hour's sleep and drove off to the airport. I headed home to say goodbye to my uncle, my father's eldest brother.

It was a most difficult journey to make. The physical aspects of it - a whole day in a tiny hospital ICU visitor's room, endless walking to and fro to check on him. The emotional aspects of it - being surrounded by people who are holding on by a thread, their families standing around hearing the slowing bleep of the heart monitor. Yet, it was a journey that I had to make.

I had once written, that the only real legacy we leave behind when we leave this world, is our children. And I think in the last year or so, I have exemplified the legacy of my parents as well as my grandparents. For to them, nothing was and is more important than that of family and unity.

My dad is not able to travel, nor manage the emotional stress that comes with an very ill brother. My mother cannot leave his side because the doctor instructed her so. While it is painful to acknowledge that I have stepped up into my parents' shoes, I have to accept that this is the circle of life.

As I try to wear off the emotional baggage that comes with a trip and a situation that we're living in, both from my extended family and my own immediate family - I am at peace. Simply because I did and is doing what feels right.

And I know that right is right simply because it was ingrained in my bones and my whole being, just as the blood that feeds my veins is the same blood that runs through my uncle and my cousins.

All Things Past

It has been a tough morning for me today. A new year has meant nothing more than the changing of a table calendar. For the weight of yesterday still hangs heavy over my shoulder.

My dad's cancer is back. Some where in this thing he calls his body. And while things are inconclusive, he has decided that he will trust in God and not do anything anymore.

This knowledge brings with it some form of finality. For with his dicey situation, not knowing where it is at means that we cannot treat it. And to not treat it would eventually mean certain death.

Even in that certainty, we have to remain uncertain. For if we do not know where it is or how big it is, we do not know how long.

I have been thinking I steel myself against the very worst because I am a person who dares not hope. I have been concentrating my thoughts and struggle on the fact that I am the one born without the hope chest. My Pandora's box threw itself wide open way back then and even Hope got out before the lid could be shut on time.

And if I continue down this road, I would have missed the opportunity to profit from this experience, this bonus time with my dad. And it would be like my Camino all over again - to plan and trained and prepare but through all that, I missed out on the scenery, the mysteries and the joy of simply walking that pilgrimage.


There is a lesson to be learnt from all this. I know it deep down in my bones. But if I keep looking out for a sneak peek of the lesson plan, I will have missed the lesson itself.




If life, if the past is to mean anything - it is that the present is NOW, not tomorrow, not next year.

Run Forrest Run

In a few hours, 2012 will end and a new year will begin. Recalling the words of a close friend, "Nothing ever really ends, does it?" And so, try as I may to think that tomorrow will be different, simply because it is a new year, I know deep down inside that nothing will really have changed.

Bless me Father I have sinned,
I'm not sure where to begin.
I won't name names or where I've been,
But I've been there and back again.

It has been the most tiring and trying year of my entire existence. With barely a month in, I had to bury my grandmother. And in the midst of all that, realise that it was also time to step up - that the next generation was the 'now'. Ready or not, we had to take our turn at the reins. Ready or not, responsibility was thrust upon our shoulders.

No Hail Marys will save me,
You learned to live with memories,
Here, slip this sinner up your sleeve,
Just stay inside until I leave.

It has to be said, this thing called responsibility. I have come to likening it to opening the Pandora's box ~ all sorts of vermin will come running out, scaring the living daylights out of you. And because you know it's Pandora's box, you have to find it in you to go back in and shut it. So that hope remains.

And that is what I will carry with me in moderate amounts into 2013 - HOPE. For have I not had an extra 40 days with my dad? Did his oncologist not give him a mere 2 months to live way back in September? From not knowing if we would see his 64th birthday with him, we ended up celebrating Christmas and the year end in a grand fashion - with the family safe in my lil hole in the sky, singing the 12 days of Christmas in our own individual way.

The hands of time may tick no more
Let darkness fall upon this door
No waves will wash up on this shore
I won the fight but lost the war.

I must say, most days this year, were not easy ones. With less than a handful of people I can call my own, I am walking into the new year feeling a little less for wear. I am run myself ragged, trying to accomplish this, that and again - the other, all at once.

There were roses I have loved
Who've given or have given up
I pushed your patience and my luck

But I stand proud and tall tonight as dusk falls across the KL skyline, as folks make their way into the city to ring in the new year, surrounded by friends and strangers. For while I have been at my worst, I have also been at my best in terms of my own emotional self.

While there can be many moments to recall, I take with me tonight, the memory of biting the bullet and admitting out-loud that I am human. And because I am human, I am capable of feeling love. And because I am capable of feeling love, I am able to once more (after 6 long years), come face-to-face with it and say it out loud.

It wasn't love I didn't trust
It wasn't you, or me, or us
You've shouldered 'ifs', and 'ands', and 'buts'
It's that way ok, I've said too much 

I like to think that it is that honesty and vulnerability that has seen me through this year of near-deaths, disappointments, exhaustion and despair. It is that honesty and vulnerability that has enabled people to catch me when I fell, jumping off balconies to snatch me back from the clutches of hopelessness. 

 

But I've been running, always running
Never had both feet on the floor

And so while tomorrow may be 1st January 2013 and I will need to put a new desk calendar on my desk, I know my road will remain much the same: bumpy and dusty. But if anything this year has taught me, I know that whatever 2013 brings, I will be able to face it with courage, with dignity and with honour. And I will be able to look myself in the mirror 365 days from today and say to myself that "I did the best I could and that was it enough."


To quote my favourite tv show, after 9 years - There's no shame in simply being human. It can be a relief to stop hiding, to accept who you really are. A little self awareness never hurt anyone. Because when you know who you are, it's easier to know what you're about, what you really need.


I've been running, always running
Now I ain't running anymore

2013 - I will not run from you, even though the prospects of you scare the shit out of me.


Happy New Year everyone!
~Not running anymore~

By Jon Bon Jovi

Playing for Keeps

I have been behaving badly the last few months. Of course everyone writes it off to the strain - emotional, physical and financial - that I have been under. But yet, I know that those are no excuse as I continuously push the envelope further from  the center of the table.

And while I can apologise each time I mis-behave, I also know at the back of my head that each person has their hard limits. As I scratch my way through them, sooner or later - they will run out.

To say I am at a precipice would be incorrect. I am no longer on the edge of the cliff, wondering to jump or not to jump. For some strange reason, the decision to jump was made for me. Afterall, was it not said - wasn't this boxed off years ago? *Hmm ~ Did it, without me knowing?*

Maybe it was all waiting for me in the sidelines. And as I made one move after another, slowly but surely with copious amounts of drinking courage, it fell into place. Perhaps that is why I had "jumped" and not knew about it.

And so it comes down to this - how do I behave so that I do not run out of space and end up where I do not want to be?

My parents celebrated their 38th wedding anniversary this week past. 38 years and the recent ones has not been getting any easier. For 10 nights, my mum slept on a dodgy sofa bed alongside my dad as he recuperated in the hospital. For many weeks, my dad put up with my mum's silent fuming as the maggots razed through her consciousness (yes - we have the same maggot infliction!). Yet, on the 38th anniversary, they held hands so tightly as they walked into the hospital for my dad's check up.

I wish I had taken a picture of that moment. But I know for the life of me, I will never forget it. The clasp of his right and her left. The fingers entwined so tightly as she feared him pain from his surgery site and he needing her support to walk back into his "house of horrors".

And I wonder to myself, will I ever get there? And also, how did I end up here? For a product of a healthy married relationship, I sure am broken in so many ways. For am I not sitting here tonight, wondering where has the last 4-something years gone, how did it move forward to where I think it is today, without me seeing it?

I have been told that "putting up" with me is a better deal than "giving up" on me. So I know for a fact that someone out there has hopes that there is a good person in lil ole body. That the soul of this lost one is not that lost at all.

Now I suppose all I need to do on my end is to actually have that same belief in myself.

If only I knew how.

Emptying

It has been a long time since I last entered my thoughts here. Things have been less than smooth - "bumpy" would be a gross understatement.

The silver lining would be that my Dad has one less tumour burden in his body. After months of chasing tails, it was finally done successfully over a week ago.

Today I am mourning the loss of my life position and security. Which is a terrible thing to do when I should be rejoicing the saving of my Dad's life. Bear in mind now - the two are distinct and separate issues. If you cannot separate the two, then you do not know me well.

After so many years of struggles, I am back at square one. Yesterday, I had to tell my child that she has to wait till pay-day to buy a book. Today I am fighting down the urge to ring a close friend out to tea so that I can spill my soul on her shoulder, because I can't afford to pay for tea.

Don't get me wrong - I would not trade my father's life for my bank account balance. That is not my rant, nor my whine. I am just so tired of these responsibilities. I am just so tired of denying my kids.

I am angry. I am frustrated. I am tired. 

I am broken and broke.

For Better or Worse

This week, I have a new perspective on what people say when they make their marriage vows.

I am a runner. I am still a runner. When the going gets tough, I have to sneak away, hide and piece together the pieces, before I can come back and stand beside whoever it is who needs me before I can make good my part of any sort.

Since Dad's diagnosis, I have been itching to run for the hills. And finally, last week, I could in the guise of a work travel. 7 days and night on my own, in gloomy, wet cold England where I had wanted to let the autumn air and leave fall envelope me in its deep, dark embrace.

And so I did. Walking in the rain, staring into space on my endless train rides across the country. And I have returned - refreshed and recharge. Ready to take on come what may.

But as I look around me in my local environment, I cannot help but feel sad for my Mom. For while I can run when I need to and want to, take a hiatus from all this: Mom is stuck where she is. Because she is his wife. She is his partner.

And you know what? As tired as she is, her vows keeps her going and so, she sees no need to run.

And we wonder why I am still on my own - after all this time?

Fifty Shades

I am enraptured in Fifty shades - The Trilogy. And I just realized why... The similarities... The past.... Perhaps not the abuse... But DEFINITELY the hurt.

Oh me! Oh my!

From So Far

I turn 37 this year.

As I sit here and post my thoughts on the year past and the year ahead, I do not feel weighed down by the wonderment: If my parents are proud of me. I know they are.

I placed my last student for the new academic year this morning at 5.46 am - that's79 doctors to be and 10 dentist to come. At this poignant point of life, when grave illness has hit the family in a hard way: I am filled with hope as I recall each of these 79 faces.

A week ago, I sat in despair and cider, wondering where did I go wrong in Year 36 - it was suppose to be bigger and better, ending with a bang so loud, it'll make the New Year's Eve fireworks pale in comparison. And this morning I am exclaiming - Let the Fat Lady Sing!

It's all a question of perception. And not giving in to fear while giving out absolutely to hope!

Hope used to be my bogeyman, my monster in the closet, my bad 4-letter word. But I have come to see, that without it, life is not worth living, not worth my space in the world. Much like love - it'll take your breath away if you allow it too!

And so, as I step into another year of life, feeling extremely grateful for my health, my family, my friends, my work - My Life: I am hopeful.

And because I have that, and God - I know that come what this year brings: I will be fine!

Happy Birthday Me - you've come so far from licking the bottom of the Devil's cauldron!

The World Keeps on Turning

Traffic is moving as it always does on a Monday morning, along the highway, just by my apartment. The backfire of a truck, the sirens of an ambulance and the horn toots of inpatient drivers late for work.

The world keeps on turning....

I have bundles of bags standing by the door - my clothes for the next 3 days as I stay over at my folks, the puke-bucket, wet wipes, boxes of tissue, plastic bags, all in readiness in case Dad feels sick on the way back later today after his 1st chemo run.

The world keeps on turning....

As we prayed together as a family on Friday night, mum had a vision of me, sitting by the cliffs with a storm raging around me. I was apparently sitting still, knees clutched closed to the chest - looking lost, forlorn and alone.

The world keeps on turning....

A colleague from Ireland wrote last week, asking if I would be available to meet her in 2 week as she stops over in her first visit to KL. We have plans for breakfast since I did not think it was appropriate to tell her that I can no longer make plans longer than 5 days ahead.

The world keeps on turning....

I know deep down that while many thinks and believes that today is the start of the road to recovery, I know differently. Today is just the start of one long road. Whether it ends in recovery or it ends in us picking up a suit, shirt and tie for Dad - it remains to be known.

It is not that I do not have faith. It is not that I do not have believe. It is simply because  the world keeps on turning and to ensure that it turns as smoothly as it possibly can, I have to think 10-steps ahead and be on the ready for whatever the turn brings.

The world keeps on turning - Can you blame me then for feeling like I am all alone through it all?